


homecoming

by minachandler



Series: you're everything to me and you always have been [22]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Episode: s04e13 True Colors, F/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minachandler/pseuds/minachandler
Summary: Set just after 4x13. Barry's glad to be out of prison, but something feels off - until his wife emerges from the shower and steps into his arms and reminds him just how much she loves him.





	homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> So this has kind of been an idea I had for an age and a half but I couldn't figure out how to write it until now. I'm not sure how it turned out, in all honesty, but the only thing I had in my head while writing this was "Barry goes down on Iris when he still has the prison scruff", lol. Make of that what you will (and read with discretion, of course).
> 
> Shoutout to Makenzie for reading this over for me and telling me she liked it.

It feels so strange being a free man.

He expected it to feel liberating, that it would make him feel truly happy, but all he feels is guilt in the pit of his stomach and in his head all he can think is _it should have been me._

He wonders if that feeling will ever pass as he unpacks the few things he had collected while in prison - mostly just little things he got cheating at poker. He could use his speed to put everything away, if he wanted to, but for some reason it's important for him to do everything manually. Maybe it's a reminder that when all is said and done he's still just as fallible, as mortal, as vulnerable as any one of those metas that DeVoe killed yesterday, and yet Barry is somehow the only one still standing.

Barry sighs and closes his eyes; he had really thought he was past this, past carrying the weight of the multiverse in its entirety on his shoulders. But being alone for so long, in that cell, has changed the way he sees everything. There, stuck in those walls and kind of in his own head too, it was hard to see even a glimmer of hope in the blackest of nights - especially after lights-out.

Shaking his head, he tries to rid his mind of the dark thoughts plaguing it. He tries to focus on what he does have: the team, who have stood by him through everything, his family, and…

“Iris,” Barry whispers to himself. He barely even realises he's saying her name aloud when a voice from behind him jolts him out of his reverie.

“You okay, babe?”

He turns around now, and without having to even think about it his face relaxes into a smile at the sight of her, hair damp and loose around her shoulders. She's wrapped in a towel and despite his change in expression she still looks worried.

“Yeah,” he says after a second, but he quickly looks away. He senses her coming closer to him but still doesn't quite anticipate the feeling of her warm hand on his.

“Sorry,” Iris says softly.

Barry looks up, raises his eyebrows. “For what?”

“I - you just got out of _prison_. Of course you're not okay.”

“I'm fine,” he tries to reassure her. “And, I mean - I know I’m one of the lucky ones. A lot of people have it worse.”

Between them passes a moment of understanding, because Iris knows what he means - Barry’s a white guy who got dealt a shitty hand, but there are plenty of people out there who have been dealt shittier.

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.”

Barry nods. “I know. But I guess I just feel weird celebrating when the metas are dead. And it's not that I'm not grateful to be out, but -”

“- Ralph showing up in the courtroom only buys us a bit of time,” Iris says, nodding. “No, you're right. I get it. It's only a short-term solution. But I promise, Barry… you're not going back there. I won't let that happen.”

He lets out a long breath, presses his face against her body. “Okay,” he says into her towel, and he feels her fingers run through the stubble that peppers his jaw.

“Okay,” she repeats back.

“I've missed you,” Barry mumbles, and he barely registers his own groan of longing when she pulls away slightly, wriggles a little, so the towel drops to the floor. And it’s not that he’s forgotten how beautiful every part of her is in the time he’s been away - far from it - but still he takes his time, his gaze dragging down her body painstakingly, inch by inch. She hasn’t moved, though; she’s waiting for him, watching him watch her, and when their eyes meet again he repeats, “I’ve missed you.” He breathes in deeply, taking in the familiar smell of her shampoo, feeling the quick thrum of his heart as it hammers in his chest and aches for her, and then he outstretches his arms and she walks right into them.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” she murmurs, and they both share a laugh when Barry kisses her, lifts her off her feet and carries her to the bed.

“Aren’t you're glad I know you so well?” Barry teases back, really smiling this time, and for the first time in a long time he can feel something that might be hope in his heart when he sees her eyes light up. He leans down, half on top of her, and kisses her, slowly, savouring the taste of her, the way she bites on his lower lip. Her hands roam over his chest, undoing buttons and then tugging it open so it's just her warm palms climbing up his ribcage, one rung at a time. He lets her explore him. He tells her he’s fine, not with words but with his steady breathing and the groan of her name on his lips when she presses a kiss right above where his heart is beating for her. Then she gently pulls away from under him -

\- and when his wife Iris West-Allen gazes up at him with eyes filled with hunger and worry and love, Barry wonders, not for the first time by a long shot, how he got to be so lucky. He smiles as Iris touches his cheek, her fingers tracing the mended hinge of his jaw.

Barry finds himself mirroring her, stroking the side of her face in the same way, and the skin is roughened a little. At his frown Iris just catches his hand and kisses his palm.

“Just a bit of beard burn,” she says, and Barry must immediately look apologetic because seconds later she kisses him even harder. “It's okay. I don't mind. I kinda like the scruff look on you, actually.”

“Yeah?” His hand wanders down, past the swell of her breast and the curve of her waist and then the warm firmness of her hip. But then he keeps his hand there, meeting her gaze.

“Yeah,” she says, answering his unasked request for permission, and he lets out a groan when the tips of his fingers collide with damp heat. Barry ducks his head, shifts, so his lips are on a spot just above Iris’s belly button, while he finds his bearings again after what feels like an eternity of separation. Her skin is so soft, hot to touch and slick with fresh sweat - Barry tastes as much on his tongue when he lowers his head so he can lick the inside of her thigh.

He can tell his scruff is marking her skin, but Iris is sighing contentedly and Barry will do anything if it means hearing and feeling and tasting the sweetness of her pleasure. It turns him on even more when he has his face buried between her thighs, her legs over his shoulders so he can feel the wonderful burn of the heels of her feet on his back. (Something about the fact that _he_ is the one to make his wife completely fall apart just with his fingers and mouth just really does it for him.) Barry doesn't stop when she comes the first time, though, as she gasps for air and grips even harder onto his hair and urges him on.

And it's as she pulls at his shoulders so his full weight is on top of her, after she comes the second time, and Iris is tugging down his clothing with this starved kind of look in her eyes, that Barry really gets it. He gets that she's in it for the long haul, truly for better or worse, in prison or their loft, in a cell or in their bedroom.

“I love you,” he says, just as he presses into her. She leans up to kiss him, so he can taste her moan in the back of his throat, and when she moves with him he knows he's not going to last much longer. Their eyes meet and Iris just smiles back, that beautiful smile he's missed so much that tells him she loves him too before she can say it with words.

“It’s okay, Barry, I want you to...” she whispers, but she breaks off to gasp as she arches into him, pulling him by the backs of his legs so they’re even closer together. And seeing her pleasure only increases his own, so when he comes he’s sure that for a second he’s seeing actual stars. He kisses her, all messily, and as he floats back down to earth and his wife rests her head on his shoulder, as spent as he is, he wonders how it was humanly possible for him to be without her for so long.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? I haven't written smut in so long and honestly I feel like I forgot how to. I would love to hear what you think in the box below - comments make my day and although sometimes I'm slow to reply they do all get answered eventually. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you have a great day!


End file.
